


Matchmaker

by MaverikLoki



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Isabela and Hawke ship Fenders, M/M, Multi, Zevran ships everyone with everyone, and surprise pairings, just humor, no actual smut sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2651660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaverikLoki/pseuds/MaverikLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "So, when my first Warden romanced Zevran, the pair of them ended up sleeping with Isabela at the Pearl. A few short quests later, Zev confessed his love for the Warden, and that's that.</p>
<p>Then my Hawke romanced Isabela, and, when the pair of them ran into Zevran, another threesome happened. Only, this time, when they got back to Kirkwall, it was Isabela confessing her love.</p>
<p>My theory is this: Isabela + Zevran + one or more unwitting third parties = a sure-fire way for one of the third parties to fall in love."</p>
<p>Isabela, Zevran, and Hawke put this theory to the test and try to pair up Anders and Fenris. The results are... not what they expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matchmaker

“It didn’t work.”  
  
“You don’t know that. Give it time.”  
  
“It didn’t work, you pirate slut, and I can’t believe you talked me into it.”  
  
Only Hawke could make the word “slut” an endearment, and only for Isabela. Said “pirate slut” laughed, her palm slipping over Hawke’s shoulder to squeeze at his bicep. “You say that like you got nothing out of it, sweet thing,” she purred. “Three handsome men and a buxom lass in your bed? Not something to complain about, you know.” On the bench, she matched the length of her body to Hawke’s, who grumbled but tucked her under his arm.  
  
“I could’ve done without knowing Anders was that kinky,” Hawke groused behind his tankard before taking a long and (un)healthy swig.  
  
Isabela snickered. “You didn’t seem to mind at the time. And Fenris sure enjoyed it.” She waggled her eyebrows.  
  
“No, indeed. Those two should have worked out their differences in this way much sooner, yes?” Zevran trilled.  
  
Hawke scowled at the elf over Isabela’s head. He’d forgotten Zevran was there, but the clever fingers sneaking into Hawke’s breeches made sure he wouldn’t make that mistake again. Hawke slapped those fingers away, and the elf pouted.  
  
Isabela smacked them both to get their attention. Fenris was ordering a drink at the bar, and a newly-arrived Anders, cheeks flushed from the crisp wind, was pressed close and saying something to him through a smirk.  
  
“Here it is,” Isabela all but squealed. Hawke shushed her and leaned forward in his seat.  
  
Fenris turned, meeting his gaze—and threw his drink in Anders’ face, storming out. Hawke turned to Isabela in time to see her grin wilt, confusion wrinkling her brow.  
  
“Told you it wouldn’t work,” Hawke sighed, taking yet another long, long drink. One look at her told him that she’d honestly believed it would. Maker, he was too sober for this.  
  
“I don’t understand,” she said to Zevran in a harsh whisper. “Did we do it wrong?”  
  
Zevran leaned in conspiratorially, shaking his head. “I’m not sure if there is a wrong way to do it,” he replied. “But this was our first time trying with a group larger than three.”  
  
Hawke rubbed his temples. “Just how many times have you tried this, exactly?”  
  
Their considering pause didn’t make him feel better.  
  
“Well, let’s see. There was the Warden, then my first mate,” Isabela said, ticking each item off on her finger, “then that saucy Orlesian, then Donnic…”  
  
“Donnic?”  
  
“What? You think the copper marigolds won him over? Please.”  
  
Hawke’s mouth gaped open, ready to spew words that wouldn’t come. “But… but you weren’t even here, Zevran!”  
  
“Was I not?” the elf asked coyly.  
  
“Oh! Then that barmaid,” Isabela continued.  
  
Hawke stared at them both.  
  
“Then you, of course, dear Champion,” Zevran finished Isabela’s list with a wink. “So you see, our track record is quite good. Perhaps we merely need to try again?” Hawke gave him a flat look. “No? Pity.”  
  
“I don’t understand,” Isabela whined. “Those two are so hot and bothered for each other. My knickers explode every time they make eye contact.”  
  
“Pardon?” Hawke sputtered.  
  
“I guess we’ll just have to take a more hands-on approach to make them realize it,” she went on, ignoring him.  
  
“How much more ‘hands-on’ could we get?” Hawke squeaked.  
  
  
  
That night, they decided to corner Fenris. He was clearly the more stubborn of the two, at least in this, and could use a nudge in the right direction. The right direction being Anders’ crotch, according to Isabela. Hawke suspected she’d been writing too much friend-fiction.  
  
The trio was surprised to see Fenris sneaking around the docks in the middle of the night, a hooded shadow with silver hair. Isabela and Zevran took to the shadows immediately, tugging Hawke along with them.  
  
“What in the…? I thought he just moped in his mansion all night?” Hawke whispered.  
  
“So did I!” Isabela whispered back. “What’s he doing here?”  
  
“He looks nervous,” Zevran murmured.  
  
Fenris paced the length of the wall to the Qunari compound, wringing his hands. Hawke exchanged looks with the elf and pirate.  
  
They waited, and not two minutes later, another dark, hooded shape appeared, this time from the compound. It was obviously a Qunari and a large one at that, judging by the shape and bulk of whoever was under that cloak. The hooded Qunari grunted something to the guards at the compound’s gate, and they bowed and left, leaving the pair of cloaked figures alone.  
  
“I did not think you would come,” the Qunari said as he drew back his hood and stepped closer to Fenris, who had to crane his neck back to maintain eye-contact.  
  
“The Arishok?” Zevran and Isabela shushed Hawke in unison.  
  
“I shouldn’t have,” Fenris answered, his voice somehow even gruffer than usual. “This… this is not of the Qun. We—”  
  
“Sod the Qun,” growled the Arishok. Fenris looked as surprised as Hawke felt when the Qunari grabbed him about the waist and drew him in for a passionate kiss.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Sweet.”  
  
“Maker.”  
  
Three jaws hung open. Three sets of eyes gaped.  
  
Fenris mewled—actually mewled—into the kiss and threw his arms around the Arishok’s neck, hoisting himself off the ground to kiss back just as desperately.  
  
“How is that even—?” Hawke squeaked, hands flailing. “How would they—? What?”  
  
“Well, Fenris is rather good with large swords!” Isabela snickered.  
  
Zevran sighed. “I love this city.”  
  
Watching the unlikely pair maul each other in the middle of the street, Hawke shook his head. He had to peel the other two away when things started to take a lewder turn.  
  
“Poor Anders,” he murmured.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, Anders laid awake on his cot, but he wasn’t alone. He was never alone.  
  
“They’re trying to pair you off with the elf,” his lover said, and Anders laughed, shivering at the growl in that already gorgeously deep voice. “Does this amuse you?”  
  
Anders smirked. “A bit, yes. You’re sexy when you’re jealous.”  
  
Another growl. “You are mine, Anders. A dalliance is one thing, but—”  
  
“Relax, love,” Anders soothed. “You know I’m yours. It’s not like I could hide it from you if I weren’t, anyway.”  
  
Justice huffed but seemed to calm.  
  
“It’s not their fault,” Anders murmured. “They could never understand our love.”  
  
Justice continued to grumble, and Anders smiled, slipping into a dream where Justice was a warm body beside him, his chest pillowing the mage’s cheek.


End file.
